Fall from Grace
by FictionalIdiot
Summary: A story about how Caboose, Sarge, Grif and Simmons ended up in a hole. Riveting! Rated T for gun stuff. Also includes the ever-loved Churboose, Grimmons, and Tuckington. Slash.
1. Prolouge

**A/N:** Hi! So this one is one for RVB. Rated T for gun stuff cause it's RVB whaddaya expect.

Also to clarify I ain't an RT member in disguise so all the stuff is theirs.

 **Prologue**

"Well great! We're stuck here. Thanks Caboose."

"You are welcome!" Caboose had a great big grin on his face that was, amazingly enough, visible beyond his standard issue blue helmet. The grumbling had been coming from Griff who was not at all pleased with his current situation.

"Thanks to you we aren't gonna get out of here. Ever. At all." Griff continued to list off other things meaning "We're never getting out of here." Such as "Eternally trapped" and "Forever stuck" before he ran out. Simmons was unconscious. He'd screamed so much on the way down he'd run out of air. Of course his helmet was resuscitating him but for the time being, Sarge had nobody to order about.

"Private Griff! Get up off your ass and DO SOMETHING!" Griff was, as usual, pretending Sarge didn't exist. It wasn't helping that Sarge was being the most proactive about this. "WE NEED A PICKAXE! Now Griff. Do we have a stick, three stones and a crafting table, because I believe that is the recipe for a pickaxe."

"SARGE WE AREN'T IN MINECRAFT!"

"DO YOU HAVE IT GRIFF. BECAUSE IF YOU DO, THEN I HAVE A WAY OUT. Just for me though. You sad sacks are still gonna be stuck here. Hehehe."

"WHY WOULD I TELL YOU IF I DID!?"

"Because I asked nicely?"

"YOU DON'T GET IT DO YOU?" Griff was audibly crying over the coms. He was to preoccupied to mute himself so it was slightly annoying for everyone involved.

"WE. ARE. STUCK DOWN HERE. WE'LL NEVER GET OUT. WE HAVE NO HOPE."

"What's that about no hope?" It was Carolina. She stood above the hole looking down with mock sympathy. "Now I don't know about no hope, but I do know that we can get you out. In time. Just give us a minute." Griff stopped crying. He looked up at Carolina, who was just blurring into view.

"Welp. I guess we have some time. How should we spend it?"

"Oh I know! I know! Pick me! Pick me!" Griff sighed.

"Okay Caboose. What do you wanna do?"

"Let's do that thing in movies where we cut back to before all the problems began!"

"What you mean like a flashback?"

"Yeah and let's do it to one week ago!"

 **One Week Earlier**


	2. Chapter 1: Last time on RVB

**A/N:** So I got a comment from a friend (*cough cough* Chickenspoon42 *cough cough*) that my prologue was too short.

CS: FAR too short (yes I'm here now)

FI: Yes thank you for illustrating the point by stealing my keyboard to-

CS: You're very welcome.

FI: I-

CS: I _said,_ you're welcome. BYE! *disappears in a cloud of smoke to go drink some most highly flavoured tea with far too much sugar because we're british* Also what's the point of this fanfic? I'm genuinely confused.

FI: *sigh* Wow, I did not expect them to steal my keyboard for like a full minute to write a drabble. Welp now that's taken up a paragraph. So yeah obvs this will be longer. Hope you enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **BTW I ACCIDENTALLY CLONED MYSELF INTO BURNIE SO I GUESS THIS DISCLAIMER HAS NO POINT. OH WELL. (JK I ain't RT. ALSO CS STOP STEALING THE FU- wait is this a collab now?**

 **CS: Probably.**

 **FI: Help me write?  
CS: You do realise we're supposed to be in a lesson now? And this lesson would be the only chance we have to write if it is a collab?**

 **FI: One segment collab?**

 **CS: Eh, sure.)**

 **Chapter 1: Last time on RVB**

So to catch you up: Caboose came of age pretty much. When given the chance he didn't do what the fanbase would have: He left Church alone. What they didn't tell you is what happened next… well here it is. The beginning was Simmons. He'd changed a fuckload. He was more confident, more sure of himself more… Griff… oh yeah they were together now. It was obvious to those paying attention. So basically nobody but Donut could have predicted it. Donut had gotten addicted to a new TV show that was going through it's fifth season. Something about monster fighting sexy teenagers. Sarge was becoming almost crazy with nothing to fight and had built a VR game from scratch, fitted it into his helmet and was now killing Nazi Zombies in World War Three-and-a-half. He was also the income as he'd began selling the game for millions of currencies (Because to say just one would be racist). Turned out SOME PEOPLE (Glaring at COD and Battlefield fanbase) have some kind of war fetish or something. Tucker was Church now but not in the way that would throw Caboose at him. Rumors going around said that Tucker was actually talking to Wash a bit more but eh. Rumors are rumors. Caboose has a Church body pillow now (Supplied by Simmons. His name is Church 3.0) and Carolina was… surprisingly absent. It was strangely fun not having her around. Simmons started the school of quote: "Teaching Caboose to be less completely and UTTERLY stupid," and somehow it was working. Oh yeah. And they moved back to Blood Gulch. But now to the ACTION.

 **One week earlier… again**

Caboose began the one chore he was good at. Morning routine. He got dressed, washed and started as usual. He sat Church 3.0 up on his chair. "I'll be back later. Don't move." The body pillow flopped in reply. "WHAT DID I JUST SAY!" The body pillow stayed still. "Good Church." The door slammed. Church 3.0 flopped over. Caboose walked into Tuckington's room and collected a small note labeled "Tucker and Wash's breakfast order" and turned around to leave when Caboose noticed the two were in the same bed. Tucker's dreadlocks softley nuzzled Wash's face and Wash groaned audibly. "Aww," Caboose whispered, "They're sleeping together for warmth." Caboose left the room slamming the door failing to be quieter than Sarge's PA alarm clock that woke the entire gulch. Oh yeah. That. It was the American national anthem. Playing on loop. Until Sarge put in the code to stop it. Or until Griff got angry enough to smash it. Whichever came first. Caboose walked into Kaikaina's room collecting a small post it note. It was ironic. The most sober thing about her was her breakfast order. And that was telling considering that the order was: "Egg McMuffin". Caboose of course knew what it meant it was just amusing that even the "dumbest person in Blood Gulch; If he is human" was smart enough to know that the nearest McDonalds was two star systems away, even if that was only because he'd begged Church to take him there for one day straight ending in Church giving in and giving up his robot body just to go find an inactive droid in the near vicinity with enough money to buy a happy meal and get to Blood Gulch (a feat that was surprisingly easy considering the lack of robot rights on that planetoid.) Caboose was about to make breakfast when he realised he was forgetting someone. Doc slept in his suit. He and O'Malley had become surprisingly close recently with them operating on a driver system: Doc gets angry or needs to fight, cue O'Malley. O'Malley deals with it or needs to medically help someone, cue Doc. He'd taken to sleeping in blue base due to his semi-constant need from Caboose. It was fun to have them around. Doc had requested one thing on his order: a sandwich. Doc still wasn't too sure about Caboose making breakfast and was still a bit worried about him cutting the sandwich but Caboose had insisted. "Well that's everyone!" Caboose said in his normal cute little voice. "Let's get to making this thing!"

"Thanks for looking after them Caboose."

"It's okay mysterious voice in my head that sounds like Church. I'd do anything for you." The voice chuckled.

"Same here Caboose. Same here."


	3. Chapter 2: Project C30

**A/N** So yeah. That was a bit weird. But announcement: This is now a perma collab! I shared the doc with ChickenSpoon and now they're gonna write for Simmons and Grif. So that's exciting I guess.

CS- Which is why the writing's suddenly and drastically improved.

 **Chapter 2: Project C3.0**

Simmons pushed his dirty-ginger locks from his forehead, focusing on the nerd-language in front of him. Inputting another line of code that Grif couldn't decipher, he upped a number in a pair of brackets to another ten times what it previously was.

"Okay, check the audio again."

Grid nodded, even though Simmons was facing away from him, his hand hovering over the open patch in Church 3.0's cushioned chest. "Alright, let's do this."

There was silence for a while.

"Which button is it?"

"The red one, Grif. The red one marked "Audio"."

"Okay."

Again, silence.

"Are you sure the recording is working?"

"I dunno, is the red light on or off?"

"On."

"Then yeah."

"Weeeeeell, guess what?"

Simmons sighed, leaning back in his chair, running a quick computer simulation. "It's not working. Damnit!" He pushed himself up, running through the lines again as he waited for the computer's verdict. "I don't understand it! It all looks fine."

"It looks like nerdy-maths-science-shit," Grif commented, leaning over his shoulder. "Maybe you don't know your shit as well as you think you do."

"Why is it my fault all of a sudden?"

"I never said it was your fault!"

"Well, Grif, it's heavily implied in the fact that you specifically said, "Maybe you don't know this as well as you think you do," that you believe it to be my fault." Simmons let the silence sit for a moment. "Remember why we're doing this. Caboose _needs_ this."

"I just don't understand, why do you care about him so much-"

"He's our friend… acquaintance at worst. Have you ever seen him lately. He takes this," Simmons gestured to the body pillow lying on the table next to him with a hand lazy from exhaustion, "Everywhere, he goes. You see him without it, somethings wrong. I know what happened at the island. You and I both saw him leave Church behind and it's killing him." He sighed, clearly seeing he wasn't getting through to the Hawaiian. "Think about us. What if that happened with us, what if you were forced to leave me behind but you _knew_ you could have saved me? You'd be eaten up inside. I'd be exactly the same, so don't you dare deny it. What do you even think he's doing? How do you think he feels? How... How would you feel?" He waited. "Well?"

"Like shit…"

"Exactly! And that's how he feels… do you get it now? Do you see why I care so much? I'm doing this for him, because I can't imagine what he's thinking, and I really, really never want to."

The computer dinged, and a pop-up proclaimed that the program should have no faults.

"God _fucking damnit!"_ Simmons' fist pounded on the table, narrowly missing the keyboard, and instead leaving a slight indent in the table. He pushed off the chair, standing up and stalking off to the corner, pressing his armoured back against the wall.

"Hey, Sims. Calm down, buddy. It's not like there can't be _something_ wrong. It'll just take a really, really fucking long time to find it."

He slid down the wall next to the ginger, who was by now pressing his head against his chest, one arm amiably wrapped around his shoulders. "But we'll get to it. For the blue idiot."

Simmons smiled thickly up at Grif, his green eyes expressing a warm thanks that he really hoped Grif couldn't catch onto.

"Ugh. What happened? How am I not dead?" A synthetic voice came from inside the pillow.

Simmons' head whipped around so fast he almost got whiplash. "...what?"

"I thought the same thing. Answer the question." That voice, that god-damn, fucking voice of an asshole so annoying he'd somehow managed to get Caboose to fall for him, the voice Simmons had steeled himself, had vowed to hear again every time he'd looked over to Blue Base, was finally here.

"...we did it… WE DID IT! YES WE DID IT! How did we do it?" Grif _hugged him,_ and then punched him in the arm when he couldn't provide an answer. "Dude, come on. What happened?"

"I don't-" Simmons bit his lip, looking to the computer as the Church pillow flopped slightly in an effort to look up. Simmons made a mental note to fit him with an endoskeleton. "I don't know. All I was doing was sorting out the cables. They were a literal mess, it had been fucking with me for ages-" He cut off. "The cables! They must have been in the wrong input! Or at least not connected properly. Either way… it fixed it!" He sent a cheesy grin over to Grif, resisting the urge to grab him and pull him down for a ki- _Don't think about that,_ he chided himself. _Don't… don't._

Luckily for him, Grif didn't spare him so much as a second glance as he rolled his eyes, moving over to the pillow, and helping him up. "Nerdy shit. Hey, Church, I'm telling you, we spent literal _days_ trying to get you working, and it turned out just to be Simmons and his cable inputs."

"Know what you mean, bud," the admittedly, slightly synthetic voice responded. "Nerds. Blue team's good, all we got is Wash, and at least he's decent. C'mon, let's get outta here."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. But I hear Wash and Tucker…" the two voices fades out, leaving Simmons sinking to his knees in the middle of the garage, watching the orange silhouette and sandbag like body pillow getting smaller and smaller as Grif chatted, far, _far_ too familiarly with Church and walked to blue base to present him to Caboose. He felt a track of sudden cold crawl down his cheek as the two figures disappeared from view without a glance back to him. _But… what about me?_

"I'm coming home Caboose. Just you wait. I'll be there soon."


	4. Chapter 3: WCDDTAC

A/N: CS- Wow, helluva lot of angst in this one. So much angst in the- no, no spoilers! But quite a bit if fluff for you fluff fans as well. Just know it gets dark.

Also I'm trying my hand at writing Blue Team! Usually it's FI. Let them know how I did, please! Wow this seems far too upbeat.

Also trigger warning for self-loathing, depression, the one word that I really never want to write again, and general Simmons hating himself. *cries because Simmons is in a reaaaaally bad place RN*

 **Chapter 3: What crippling depression** **does to a cyborg**

Caboose bumbled along the kitchen, humming a special little ditty he'd heard from Washingtub called "You're my best friend". It reminded him of Church.

He bustled over the cupboards, preparing Kai's order of hot chocolate for lunch, and Tuckingtub's mash and sausages. "You're the first one," he hummed, "When things turn out bad. You know I'll never be lonely. You're my only one," Dropping the appropriate meals off, he relaxed, but tensed at the memory that Church was gone. And he couldn't even kid himself that he wasn't, because Church 3.0 was gone as well.

"Caboose! I'm home!"

His head whipped upwards from the warm milk he was preparing for himself. "Ch-Church?"

"I'm home, buddy."

Grif was in the doorway, supporting his beloved body pillow by the arm. "It is the one and only AI-but-ghost, Caboose," the orange-armoured red confirmed.

Caboose squealed. "Church!" he cried, throwing himself forward. "It's you!"

Church laughed. "Hell yeah it's me. Is Tucker around? I heard he and Wash are something of an item nowadays."

Caboose nodded vigorously. "I saw them cuddling for warmth the other day. They really are good friends, aren't they? Like us!"

"Yeah." Church's voice was muffled from the chestplate he was cuddled up against. "Like us."

"Tucker! Washingtub!" A yawn answered them from the room the two were bunking in. "It's Church! It's really Church!"

A yelp of pain from Wash responded this time, and a slam at the door was ripped from its hinges. "Church?" Tucker stood, framed by the doorway, bleary-eyed yet still wide awake and alert. Behind him was a yawning Wash, who nestled his head on Tucker's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist to keep him upright, having just been woken up.

"Hey, Tucker." Church called.

"Hey, asshole." Tucker scowled down at the pillow even as he leaned into Wash's embrace. "I'd punch you in the face, but you're a pillow."

"Don't, Lav," Wash mumbled. ("Lav?" "Lavernius, Church. You know, my name?")

"Cuddling for warmth. Really good friends. Yeah right," Grif smirked.

Wash yawned. "Hey, Grif. Where's Simmons?"

"I dunno, probably back Red Base with his nerdy computer shit. Jacking off to his hardware."

Wash nuzzled Tucker's neck, before relinquishing his hold around his waist. "You don't know, do you?"

Grif looked uncomfortable. "Uh…" he slurred intelligently.

"You don't know." Wash sighed. "Go and make sure he hasn't killed himself, will you?"

"Hey, he's fine, I'm telling you! I looked back as we were leaving, and he was just heading out the door."

Wash raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms and leaning on one leg in the sceptical look of I-don't-believe-you that made Tucker almost crumble to the floor and confess his every sin. "Did you really?"

"Yeah, of course I did!" Grif protested, lying through his teeth. "He's my best friend, Wash, you think I'd leave without checking he's fine?"

Wash shrugged. "Okay. Just making sure."

"I know he's fine. He may get crippling depression from time to time, but we just brought Church back! Why would he be sad?"

[...]

 _I love you, Dexter Grif… and all you can do is hate me in return._

Simmons stumbled up the slope, gritty dust making his feet slide beneath him. Usually it would be less than a problem, but today was not one of those days. He slipped, catching himself as he pitched forwards, his un-suited hands (for better access to the keys and better grip on screwdrivers) stinging from contact with the hard earth. He gasped lowly at the flash of burning pain, raising his human hand to his face whilst the other curled into the ground. He could see a patch of angry-red against the Dutch-Irish pale skin, but not much more than that, his vision blurred from stinging tears tracking steadily down his face. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, sinking into the dirt, waiting for it to finally swallow him up for good.

Finally the Irish roar in his ear ceased, his father's drunken, angry, painfully truthful words ceasing to Simmons' combined relief and hurt. Hurt because he needed to hear them. He gathered the strength to keep on going, ridding all thoughts of everything he could from his mind.

But there was one thing- one perfect, drawling, comforting, warm person- that would not leave him. Dexter Grif stayed with him, smirking and turning away from the filthy, hopeless, _worthless_ Simmons. He really didn't blame the Hawaiian. It would always be far too much to ask that anyone stay with him.

Again he tripped, and again he lay in the dust, not bothering to find the strength to push off again. He did, however, curl in on himself, just about pulling his body into the shade of the cliffs. There he stayed, as far as he was concerned, having reached his destination. Alone.

Donut had taken one look at him all those years ago and squealed, knowing his filthy attraction to Grif before he even knew what Simmons' voice sounded like. He'd guessed, just like that… Simmons remembered how his stomach had churned. If a rookie who barely knew him could guess his darkest secret just like that, who knows how long it would take Grif to catch on? So far he'd survived, even past the best and simultaneously worst moment of his life; the Tower of Procreation.

Simmons whimpered brokenly at the fleeting memory of what it was like to _have_ Grif, to _hold_ him and be _his_. Innocence was most certainly bliss in this case, and knowing what being Grif's own felt like, he yearned for it with every passing day. Too bad that Grif could never, _never_ feel the same way.

Simmons curled closer in on himself, digging his fingers into the armour on his arms, the metal hydraulics pressing painfully into his arm. If anyone ever saw the bruises that Simmons left on himself, the cuts and scratchings… he was so glad that the shirts beneath the armour was long sleeved. Because no one could see, no one could guess.

[...]

"Right," Grif raised a glass of Sherry to the other three non-AI trusted with alcohol- Tucker, Wash, and (unwillingly on Grif's part) Kaikaina. "I'd better get back to Red Base, or Sarge will have my ass for breakfast. Not to mention Simmons."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Kai asked, giving him a wink. "Simmons having your ass."

"Kai," Wash tutted, "Don't tease him about stuff he doesn't know about yet."

Grif poured the rest of his glass over Kai's head with a laugh by way of revenge. "See you around, guys."

[...]

"Wha- oh. I've been… replaced. Ha. I guess I'll just have to make myself a little more… obvious."


	5. Chapter 4: Worthless little nothing

**A/N** So I'm kinda preparing this one for a double release. When CS gets to Wi-Fi to get chapter 3 off their phone I'll upload that but… I'm writing ahead cause I'm bored. ::)

CS- And I'm here because Coding shouldn't be a lesson. Hope you liked my attempt at Blue Team last chapter! I haven't gotten feedback yet, because unfortunately I can't look into the future. Sad, I know. But Simmons is back again, and still ultra depressed… not the best thing, considering what happens. We'll leave you to read this.

 **Chapter 4: Worthless little nothing**

Simmons awoke lying curled up on the floor, his head aching, his arm bleeding and implants overheating. Not bothering to raise his head, he blearily opened one eye, vaguely noting the rivulets of crimson running from his outstretched arm down the shallow incline, recognising the gritty texture of flakey dust mixing with the deep red of blood.

His headache from lack of blood and hunger, his just-functioning implants telling him it had been three days since he'd last moved- that when he dragged himself up to this godforsaken spot.

He had to get inside or he knew he'd most certainly die but he couldn't find the will to. _Grif's gonna be inside by now… He can't see me like this. He'll know, and he can't know. Not ever._ His vision began to fade and everything fell away except… a silhouette. His silhouette. It spoke. "Haha! I knew it! I knew he couldn't do it. I knew he'd find a reason to die. He's like that, he's worthless." The word echoed. It cut through his stunned silence like a superheated knife through butter. It changed colour, his voice becoming glitchier and pitching down into the voice Simmons dreaded.

"Hello again, buddy." The face behind the visor grinned, a twitching, sick grin. "This is your old pal, Epsilon." It spoke as though it were stressing a child. "It's been a looooong time. Feels like two seasons now."

"You're it. You're the real one, aren't you?" Simmons made a conscious effort to raise his head, the Epsilon clone scaring him into action, but there was no energy to move. Not after three days of bleeding out and starvation, not with him already about to throw himself off the brink of death.

" _Bingo_! Someone give this man a prize. Although I prefer the term him when using pronouns thank you. I am the _real_ Epsilon. In the flesh, not… you know what I mean. I'm not the thing you gave Caboose earlier. I am a splinter of the Epsilon that deleted himself, that I suppose you could say ' _jumped ship'_. Buuut I'm here now. And I'm pretty pissed at how you replaced me. Dick move, Richard. Dick move." It chuckled to itself, laughing at its own terrible pun distorted by glitching. It was _enjoying_ this. Simmons didn't bother to try to respond. He just whimpered, his arm growing feelingless from the lack of blood."According to _your_ little vitals check thing you're dying. Pretty painfully too." Really? Simmons hadn't noticed. "Bleeding _and_ starvation? That's like walking a centimetre wide tightrope and personally ensuring the lack of a safety net. But enough about how _worthless_ you are." Simmons's eyes pricked painfully. It wasn't just him, it wasn't just him, he really was worthless. Stupid, filthy, _animal. Worthless fucking animal._ "Oh. You don't like that do you? Because you are worthless, you know. You're just a worthless little nothing and you _need_ me to survive. Let's make a deal." It grinned and clapped once, falling lazily into an elegant pile on a chair conjured from seemingly thin air. "I have a program that'll turn the electricity running through your enhancements into _life_ … and it'll send out a distress call to make sure you get that life." Simmons near shook his head. _No, no more._ The entire reason for coming up here was to die. But he stopped. _Coward. You can't live. You don't deserve it._ But some last stretch of insanity within him stilled his movements. "I thought so. Couldn't bare to see your boyfriend suffer, could you? Don't worry. It's all going to be just fine."

His vision blurred with the black slowly creeping over him. Everything dipped and blackened.

[...]

"Oh you poor, poor Simmons. You really should read the small print. Don't worry. Everything will be fine. For me. You'll probably die in the process of my plans but... uh... who cares about you?"


	6. Chapter 5: Echo's of someone else

**A/N:** CS- Really sorry last chapter was so short, as well as the wait in between so long. Seriously, you don't know how many times we tried to get this up today. And yesterday. But on a similar(ish) note…

So I've gotten no feedback. Which is sad, because I don't know how to do better if you lot don't tell me. So in case you didn't get the memo, _**REVIEW. SERIOUSLY, REVIEW. PLEASE**_. See, I can be reasonable, I said "please".

Also has anyone else noticed how it's literally me writing FI's fanfiction? It's slightly pissing me off, but at the same time I'm going "HA HA IT'S MINE NOW YOU'LL NEVER SEE IT AGAIN! *insert maniacal laughter here*"

Also also might be a good idea to mention the fact that no one's wearing helmets in this. Like, at all. Not a plot point, but makes it easier for me.

 **Chapter 5: Echo's of someone else**

He lay on his front at the back of his mind, attempting to stem the flow of blood from his arm so he could heal… maybe get rid of the Not-Epsilon Epsilon at some point. The glitched, twisted, flickering AI fragmented fragment of a fragment that stood in front of the "Inside Out"-esque control panel hadn't bothered to encase him in any form of security. _Fair enough_ , Simmons mused.

"Hmm?" The Epsilon echo turned, perhaps sensing Simmons' brain activity- it was an AI after all. Simmons didn't know, he was theorising. Tiredly. "Oh, hello, Dick! Rise and shine, _buddy."_ Echo spat the last word out, shaking his head at the pathetic husk on the floor, watching satisfied as Simmons curled in on himself weakly, his movements slow and seemed to be blocked in an unseen way.

"It's a brand new day. Time to see what's been happening recently. Without _you._ I wanted you to personally see first hand what's been going on.

 _Oh, yeah, totally ignoring the fact that you need me to be awake to be able to move._ Simmons made to roll away from the Echo, but found he couldn't. He sighed. _Typical._

Echo found this hilarious. "Oh, yeah, forgot to mention. You can't do anything in here unless I let you. _I'm_ in charge here."

Simmons chuckled, still weak, but finding a perverse humour in his captor's statement.

"What is it? Shut the hell up!"

"Hmm? Oh," Simmons stopped, regaining himself. This was more to distract from the inevitable boredom than anything, but hey, riling up Church was always fun. A bit of revenge for that one time the original (like, Alpha original) AI-but-ghost almost made him kill himself when he turned blue for about three days. Ah, the memories. "It's just you reminded me of those pathetic cartoon villains on TV. You've thought this out far too much and frankly, it's getting kinda cliche."

Echo blinked surprised. "Do cartoon villains dooooo _this?"_ It smirked, pulling out a cartoonishly (ba-dum-chhhhhh) large gun, one which Simmons knew would never work. But hey, it's Epsilon. Or used to be. A red dot appeared on Simmons' chest, and it fired, missiles and fireworks and Big Bullet Bills and regular bullets all zooming right towards the dot before they stopped, less than an inch from his chest.

"Well?" Echo was grinning, probably because he just won the contest for the most shit eaten in a minute. They tended to hand out those shit-eating grins as freebies.

"Yep." Yeah, Simmons wouldn't lie- well, he would, about a lot of things. But not this- seeing Echo's hand waver with doubt sparked an ember of happiness that he knew he probably shouldn't enjoy this much. But hey, you can't spell happiness without I, after all.

The expression slipped- a frown planting itself on Echo's face. "Oh." He glanced at the gun in his hand, suddenly realising how needlessly pathetic it was. "Well this is needlessly pathetic."

Simmons rolled his eyes boredly as Echo threw the gun over its shoulder, the hard-lite disappearing. "Hey, needlessly cliche isn't always a bad thing. Look at Roman Torchwick."

"True," Echo considered.

"Hey, Simmons!" What's with Grif and whiplash? Seriously, Simmons was surprised that his neck wasn't broken yet.

"Yeah?" Echo answered for him. It was sort of his voice, except not. The main reason for that being it wasn't his voice.

"Dude, come down here! You've been gone for what, four days already-"  
"Three," The real Simmons corrected, and Echo ignored him. A dark glint found its way into Simmons' jade eyes, and he smirked, subtly adjusting his body so he wasn't lying on his arm. It was getting rather numb…

"-and Sarge is going to murder you if you don't hurry up and fix the damn Puma. He drove it into the cliffs yesterday, and with Lopez gone," the orange Red shrugged, "You're the only one down here who can stop the mass genocide. I don't want to die, and I'm pretty sure you don't either. So," he turned, not waiting for an answer. "Let's get a move one."

[...]

Grif didn't spare Simmons a second glance as the maroon as his comrade walked (stumbled? He did hear a scuffing in the dirt) down the slope towards him- why would he? He was pissed- three days of putting up with Sarge and Donut alone weren't exactly at the top of the list of things an anger-management therapist would recommend.

A twinge of guilt poked at him lightly as Simmons tripped over himself, just enough for him to stop and help the bastard up. Simmons looked like shit- was his arm _bleeding?_ For _three days?_ It was probably a bloody miracle that the guy could even stand… it would explain why Simmons hadn't corrected him even once, though.

Grif absolutely _loved_ riling him up, and there was no better way to do it than give him inconsistency after inconsistency to fume over. But this guy was strangely quiet- not even meeting his eyes once. _Must be the crippling depression,_ Grif idly and sarcastically supposed. _Wouldn't be the first time, and Wash…_ well, Wash is generally right about pretty much everything, unless it contradicts Carolina. In which case, you go with Carolina.

Still, the maroon's silence bugged him. It was as if he didn't know what to say, didn't know himself. Again, wouldn't be the first time, but it still (Grif would only ever admit it to himself, of course) _hurt_ to see the biting, cynical, jaded man so often beside him fall that far behind everyone else.

Okay, it tore him to fucking pieces and then threw said tiny pieces into an infiro, blowing _that_ up with TNT, and dumping all the ashes in a river. Happy now, conscience? Huh? Yeah. Thought so.

"So… what are we supposed to be doing?" _He speaks!_

Grif snorted. "We? Dude, I'm not the one fixing the damn Puma. If I could, don't you think I'd have done it already, instead of waiting for you to make your untimely appearance?"

"Oh, well I'm sorry!" Simmons lashed back, and Grif simply turned and raised an eyebrow. "S-sorry…" the pale soldier coloured violently. Grif rolled his eyes and looked away as he always did, stopping by the Puma.

"This is where I leave you to your one and only true friend- the Puma specs."

"Yeah, thanks, Grif," Simmons muttered as he left.

[...]

"Hey, look at that, Echo's not in control. I am. If only I could actually _move-_ hey, who knew that starving yourself and bleeding out for three days was so energy draining?"


	7. Chapter 6: Procreational Fallout

A/N: So hi! I feel like we've been moving a bit too fast. Like Season 15's plot fast. I kinda want this to be fleshed out enough that when we come to ending this I can start a continuation and a skit fanfic which has been my goal from writing this. So a little filler to give you a taste of Grif. CS has no hand in this. She hates writing filler so yeah. Enjoy! Also, for the last time I'M NOT RT SO THIS IS A FANFIC DUDES!

CS- well that kinda came out of nowhere. Also, I wanna clarify something that'll apply for the next couple of chapters. From now on, if we say Echo (Epsilon), we'll mean Simmons' body, but Echo's controlling it. We'll specify if it's the tiny-Echo in Simmons' head, talking to Simmons. This won't apply if it's not either Simmons' or Echo's POV. So if it's from Grif's POV, he'll think Simmons is still Simmons and call him as such.

Chapter 6: Procreational Fallout

Audio Log: D. Grif

"Is this thing working? Goddamnit I can't tell without Simmons, but he can't be here because of… ugh come on Grif. You know what. Fuck it. I'm NOT gay. It's been three days since… that happened and I can't stop thinking about it. My sis would kill me if she knew I'd done this. Not in the angry way. In the embarrassing sister way. But I can't tell Kai. Me and Simmons have agreed not to tell anyone what happened anyway. So we should be fine. This is… more awkward than expected. It's just if I talk about it with him it'll be weird and if talk about it with anyone else it'll be breaking the pact. And worse. So me and Simmons got locked in the supply closet, just before Tucker activated that last tower. We think it's Donut cause I heard his smug giggling over the comms before he muted himself. Uh… everything kinda goes blank after that. It happened to everyone, apparently, well, everyone except Tucker. He won't stop bragging about it. Just the tower's effects, they say. But it kinda sucks, because this niggling part of me really wants to know what happened. I think Simmons knows. I don't know how he knows, but he knows- obviously, I'm not going to ask. That would be far too… close for either of us. And even if that one part of me wants to know, it isn't enough of me to be important. I'd honestly rather go about my days and pretend it never happened. For now at least... You know what? Okay, again, fuck this. I've been putting it off, but we're now skipping straight to the weird shit. Simmons."

[...]

He couldn't remember it ever happening, but… how would his eye have recorded it otherwise? He didn't want to believe it- he really didn't, but at the same time, wasn't this what he'd been fantasising about ever since he'd fallen for the Hawaiian? Curled up in the complete blackness of it all, in the warm embrace of Dexter Grif… Simmons found himself relaxing. It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't… It was. It had to be. His eye had recorded it all, every touch, every cry. He wished he could just remember how it felt.

He drifted off, murmuring a quiet "Dex…"

Which was obviously the moment Grif had to wake up.

"Simmons."

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit-

"Get the fuck off my arm, and tell me what the fuck happened."

Simmons nearly cried, but managed to gather the energy to push himself away. He looked up to Grif meekly, and forced himself not to cower away from the thunderous expression on his face. It contrasted so harshly with the soft expression currently imprinted into his brain, and it was killing him.

"Simmons, what happened?"  
It wasn't a question. It was an order.

"I don't know."  
"Bullshit. You know everything. Now tell me," Simmons did curl in tighter on himself now, "What. The fuck. Happened."

He felt something inside him pull brokenly. "I don't know. We're locked inside a supply closet.. I think… oh god. I'm looking through the com logs… Tucker turned on the tower of procreation."

Grif's eyes widened.

"We didn't…"

"No we couldn't have."

"GODDAMNIT SIMMONS IT'S THE TOWER OF PROCREATION. WE HAVE GOT ANY CLOTHES ON. OF COURSE WE DID."

"Fuck."

"Same… You know what. Lets just never. EVER. Speak of this again."

"Agreed."

"I can't do much. He'll notice. Hand signals. Will he notice hand signals? Will he notice hand signals. Can't tell. This is the most I can try. Come on, Simmons concentrate."


	8. Chapter 7: No strings on me

**A/N:** CS- I'm bored and apparently the last chapter was filler. Which I can't write. So FI's writing it, but like I said, I'm bored. So… here we are. He's writing it now, but I can't, so I'll make a start on this.

And I've finished it. About two days later, mind you… either way. A whooole lot of my belovéd Grimmons on this one, ladies and gents.

I give you… a~shipping.

 **Chapter 7: No strings on me**

Grif awoke, breathless, clammy and shaken from his dream. _The Tower…_ why had the Tower come to him? And why, why oh why now? Simmons was on the other side of the room, and Grif just _had_ to think of that moment with him not five metres away.

Finally, when the crinkling of duvet fabric had ceased along with his hyperventilating, did silence reign in the room- only for Grif to realise the room wasn't filled with silence, but rather the familiar mechanical whirring of cybernetics. The soft, warm, red lights blinked at him sleepily, though the relaxed muscles indicated Simmons was indeed asleep, and Grif was struck with the memory of how he used to count the lights, over and over, to help him settle down and get used to the mechanics. It was like counting sheep. Speaking of getting to sleep, last night was the best night sleep he'd had in a while… well, not quite that long. Three or four days? He abstractly supposed that it could be something to do with there being no red lights to count.

An awake Grif might realise the implications and stop his habit immediately, but, like so many other occasions, a half-asleep Grif dismissed it completely, choosing instead to settle down, forget the Tower, and indulge himself in the blinking lights.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…_ They gently flashed to him, giving the weak illusion that there were more he hadn't counted. He'd go round and round and round the circles of soft red dots of light, counting and counting… _thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixtee-_ He suppressed a yawn and continued counting… _sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…_

Simmons shifted, exposing more lights. _Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…_ Simmons' hand grasped at the blankets with one hand, his human one. Only an occasional flash told him where the other one was- lying across the mattress in front of his chest, casting the pale skin in a dark scarlet light. Grif's eyes slid out of focus for a moment, forgetting the lights a moment in the haze of sleep. He nestled down, closing his eyes and letting the dancing lights and the thoughts of his roommate just across from him lull him to security in sleep.

He felt… content.

[...]

"Oh look," Echo hummed, leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the control panel. "Grif's awake."

No one answered him, of course. When Simmons was asleep, so too was Simmons' body. It was rather annoying, and never something he'd ever tell the suicidal Red- he'd take the lack of control on his part as motivation, and muster up the energy from somewhere to kick Echo out. And that couldn't happen- not yet. Not until that imposter had been dealt with. Not until Caboose was his once more.

Echo chuckled. "Hey, Simmons. He's staring at you." The AI watched as Grifs gaze drifted from Simmons' cybernetic face plate down, down towards Simmons' just exposed chest. "Like, _really_ staring."

Grif's eyes drifted shut with a content smile and Echo frowned as he leaned closer to the projection of his surroundings. _Could it actually be that Simmons_ _ **isn't**_ _completely hopeless in his infatuation?_ Naaaaah. Simmons is hopeless at everything. There's no way he could actually have a shot at this.

Grif yawned sleepily and snuggled further down into his sheets. "G'night, Simms," he mumbled, smiling happily as he turned over in his sleep, and promptly turned back to face the cyborg again.

... _or could he?_

[...]

It was an awkward morning. Grif had no clue why Simmons was acting so weird, but then again, he had no idea what he was doing either. He felt… warm? Which wasn't a surprise, since it was Blood Gulch, but it wasn't the sweltering, sweaty, sticky heat of the constant waves of the Gulch- not in the air conditioned kitchen that had no right to be that powerful. It was either melt to death or freeze to death, and Grif more often than not chose the latter. Simmons tended to do the same, but something had changed.

And it was triggering him that he didn't know what it was.

Simmons kept his distance usually, often deliberately in another room or across in the opposite corner. But now he abandoned these attempts at self-employed solitary confinement, instead acting as a normal person would. Grif could almost laugh at the thought- Simmons being a normal person- if not for his own reaction.

It was fine before, of course it was. There was nothing for him to react _to._ But now there's a feeling, a pull, a _warmth_ that comes with Simmons. It was a good warmth, pleasantly heating him up from the core and letting him relax- not like the boiling waves from outside.

He didn't know what it was. He didn't know how to feel about it. He didn't know which side of the internal war to side with. The feeling that tingled against his skin was welcome in the sense that it dispelled the overpowering cold from the broken air-con unit, but not do in the fact that it seemed to be radiating off Simmons, warming them both with a proximity he was _definitely_ not comfortable with, and it acted as a magnet, drawing him close to the Dutch-Irish against his will.

And then a sudden, striking thought came to mind. He really wasn't sure whether he was imagining it, an offhand comment thought up on a drunken haze, or whether Kai actually said it.

" _You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Kai asked, giving him a wink. "Simmons having your ass."_

It seemed like something she'd say, and as he dwelt upon it in the only room with a reasonable temperature, the ex-meeting room now converted into a hangout lounge zone, he felt the dreaded rings of truth binding themselves around the memory. Not only that she actually had said it, not just it being something that he'd thought up in a drunken haze, but the statement itself. _You'd like that, wouldn't you? Simmons having your ass._

And it was true. Holy _shit,_ it was true. He would. He would like Simmons to be his, all his, and himself to be Simmons' own.

"Fuck," he cursed, getting up and braving the kitchen to go and find the vodka.

[...]

"Well, he didn't notice the hand signals. Like, at all. I suppose the only perk of this is that Echo didn't notice either, which is kinda pointless if Grif didn't. That was the aim, after all. What else can I do?"


	9. Chapter 8: Can I say something crazy?

**A/N:** I was planning on revealing the FIFTY METRIC FUCKSHITHOLYMOLYTon ammount of Grimmons heading your way this chapter buuuuuuuuuuuuut… I can't. Because CS already did that. I still managed to get a little but in, though, so… yay for that. Just be aware that this is a gay ship and that if you don't like that then A) You're a little bit insensitive and B) Just.. prepare yourself. Mentally. So back to the story. *Clears throat*

 **Chapter 8: Can I say something crazy?**

Echo pressed down on the "run program" option, and sat back. An hour's timer, and then the trap would start, the trigger eagerly, anxiously waiting for it's grand debut with it's first and final shot-

"What's with all the hunting metaphors?" Simmons asked.

"It's because I can, dipshit. Isn't that what all of your cliche cartoon villains do, monologue until some deus ex machina that everyone saw coming finishes their evil schemes, then put them in prison and assuming they'll be a nice boy and stay put?"  
Simmons attempted to look up, confused, buuut he was kinda still paralysed. "I'm confused- who are you insulting here?"  
"You."  
"Aaaaah." Simmons nodded, relaxing with the retarints. "Makes sense."  
"Exactly."

Echo spun in his chair, bored. Generally he'd wait, see how Grif was acting around him, tease Simmons about it later, destroy his self-worth a bit… seethe over that body-pillow that replaced him, plot it's ultimate destruction, think of promising to Caboose over and over again that he'd never leave his side again…

[...]

Grif looked up at an obnoxious shrill siren filling the air, clamping a hand over his ears. Donut was out with Doc somewhere, and Sarge kinda disappeared a couple days ago, though Wash insisted that the Red "Super Cornel" was completely fine.

That left him and Simmons at Red Base. Alone. Fucking hell, just perfect-

"Holy shit. Holy shit!" A thump muffled the yell, and he heard Simmons mutter "Ow…"

"Hey, Simmons!" he called, convincing himself to brave the cyborg's company. "What is it?"  
"It's… Vic!" Simmons' tone was disbelieving as he entered the room. "Holy shit, it's Vic!"

"What?" Grif leant over Simmons' shoulder, intentionally putting all of his weight on said shoulder. He knew it was the human one, and some part of the back of his brain bitch-slapped him for punishing Simmons for something up didn't even know about. But the other vindictive part of him, the part that despised the warmth and the magnetic attraction, gloated over his victory, claiming back some pride over his self-control not to lean down and wrap his arms around Simmons like he'd seen Wash do so often. "Like, the most useless AI in the universe Vic?"

"Yeah, that Vic. How many other Vics do we know?" Good point.

"Well shit. Holy, holy shit." Grif rubbed an eye warily. "What do we do?"

"We could go get Blue Team," Simmons suggested. "Caboose was friends with Vic, and I- Church… appreciated him. Plus he did save all of our lives back in Antarctica."

"Not Wash's, he wasn't with us at the time, but I get your point. Shall I get them?"

"Yeah, I'll triangulate the frequency origin and some other nerdy shit. You piss off." Simmons began analysing… something, whilst Grif found it best to just roll his eyes and head for Blue Base.

[...]

Grif stopped. He was about two feet from the blue base thinking over what Simmons had said. He never referred to anything he did as nerdy shit, in fact the only other person apart from yours truly who did anything like that was Chur- His thoughts halted. Simmons is half cyborg, right? And couldn't anything with a little bit of computer in it can be hacked? Oh god. Oh fucking hell. Simmons is being hacked by Church.

He frowned. But Church was dead. Temple couldn't bring him back, nor could any other weird happenings. Nothing had, except Simmons. Wait… did Church 3.0 hack Simmons?! Somehow gaining a boost of energy driven by worry, all the while cursing his new-found feelings for _making_ him worry, he ran into blue base, and into Caboose's room. "WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU BLUE MOTHERFUCKER!?"

"What do you mean? Also calm down, there are kids in the room."

Caboose whimpered. "My innocence."

"Oh. Sorry, dude. But still, what the heck did you do to Simmons?"

He could feel the glaring frown boring into his skull. "What do you mean? I've been here all day. Also what's happened to Simmons?"

"He's been acting…" Grif searched for the word, finally settling on "Off. You know how protective he gets over his computers, right?"

"Uh-huh…?" Grif could tell Church wasn't quite following, but he ignored it.

"Well, today he referred to it as nerdy shit."

Caboose gasped dramatically. "Oh no! Not nerdy-"

"Don't say it, Caboose," Church warned. "That word is evil. You can't ever say it."

"Okay."

"Either way," Grif continued. "Do you get it?"

"Nope. Why does him catching on to the truth automatically make me a bad guy? He could have picked it up from you, you know."

Grif shook his head. "No. He'd never."

"So why are you suspecting me? What have I done?" If Church could move his arms, they'd be crossed right now.

Grif sighed. "I don't knoooow. It's not just that, either. He hasn't corrected me in… three days?"

"Again, how is this my fault? For the thousandth time?"

"I thought you might have… hacked him or something."

"Uuuuh-huuuuh." Now Church just sounded pissed. The mental image of him with his arms crossed once again came to mind, accompanied now with a tapping foot. Grif almost gulped, before he remembered that the two of them were equals. Rank and everything. What right did Church have to lecture him and tell him off. Must be instinct from dealing with Caboose, he reasoned.

Then, the most dangerous thing that could have happened, happened. Grif had an idea. "Is there anyway that a piece of you that got deleted could have gotten away. Like a fraction of fraction of a subroutine-thingy. Simmons would never act so much like you without influence…"

"Hmm… I suppose that some kind of survivalist instinct in me could have. But what would be so overpowering in me that-" He stopped himself. "Holy shit…" It was very clear from the way Caboose was looking at Church that they both knew exactly why. "Caboose. We need to run."

[...]

"I can't believe I missed this. Simmons is my best friend, right…? No, fuck it. He's MORE than that. I love him for it, and no corrupted little shit is going to take him away from me… but for now I'm gonna go lie down. All this raging has made me hungry- NO STAY FOCUSED. Simmons. Food. Simmons. Food. Simmons. Simmons. Simmooood. Smood. Food. Oh fine, I'll get something to eat."


	10. Chapter 9: It's not his fault

**A/N:** CS- What's this? We're uploading what could just be described as, *le gaspe*, _regularly?_ This must be a dream… or a nightmare. Quick! FI! Punch me in the face!

FI- With pleasure.

CS-...

CS- (reappears, clutching broken nose) Thanks. Welp, this is the reality I live in, now. We ain't in Kansas no more, Toto. Ah well. Better make the most of it, I guess.

 **Chapter 9: It's not his fault**

"So," Wash eventually monotoned. "Your brilliant plan to escape from yourself is to…?"  
"Uh…" Grif scratched the back of his head out of the corner of Church's eye and looked at him.

"Get away from this gulch," he supplied.

"And not, you know, actually do anything about Simm-silon?" Tucker asked.

"We were getting there!" Church defended. "I was kinda preoccupied, though." Wash raised his eyebrows and Grif nodded his head to the next room, where Caboose was happily making Kai _far_ too much hot chocolate for anyone except maybe her and Grif to humanely be able to drink.

"Yeah. And you conveniently forgot that _you yourself_ are, in fact, an android yourself?"  
Church glared. "So?"  
Wash leant forward, resting his elbows on his legs and adopting a serious, teachery expression. "You could get hacked," he explained. "And if you get hacked, that would be _bad._ "

Grif sat back in awe. "Shite," he murmured. _Heck, Church seriously charged into that without a second spared for himself._ He paused, his eyes going wide. _Wait, is this what'll happen to me over Simmons?_

Wash groaned into his hands, which were now cradling his head. "Right. So. Run me through what happened."

[...]

Flashback to a few hours ago- are you sure it's not one

week? Yes? No? Right, yes, it is only a few hours.

"Plan of action?" Grif puffed, trying to catch up to the _holy hell he's fast as fuck!_ cobalt blue… well, blue.

"Seeing if we can get round to that beach thing at the back of the base," Church called back, much more comfortable in the arms of Caboose than Grif was running along behind them. "We've only been back there once, so we're not sure if we can still get to them. Worth having a look, though we haven't been here in ten seasons. So we've no clue."

"Right."

They rounded a corner, and Grif made to keep going as the sandy yellow-grey cliffs all looked the same, before he heard a hiss of "Fuck!"  
Church's head flopped downwards, even as his seething voice continued. "Fuck, cock and balls, goddamn _son of a bitch!_ Don't repeat any of that, Caboose."  
"Okay!"

" _Fucking boulders, fucking landslides…_ Grif!" Church's tone was sharp. "Any other suggestions?"  
"The caves?" he suggested. We don't know if those lead out of the gulch or not, we could try to explore them. Or you could try to sneak out of the back of Red Base, I think our beach is open."  
"Too risky. I'm not risking Caboose anywhere near your cyborg pal." Grif's chest twisted uncomfortably with indignation at Church's mistrust of Simmons. Church sighed, and the fabric seemed to sag. "Caves it is, then."

"Right." Grif wasn't really looking where he was going as much as he was automatically following Caboose out of the corner of his eye. _Damn you, newfound feeling interfering with my life,_ he mentally cursed. And to Church, _It's not his fault! It's not his fault I got run over, that Sarge hates my guts so much! It's not his fault_ _ **you**_ _decided to take him over, it's not his fault you're so obsessed with Caboose. It's not his fault, it's not._

He glanced back to Red Base, just to look, and saw Simm-silon sitting in front of his computer, spinning round, round and round in his swively-chair. Swivel, swivel, swivel… Grif remembered doing that. He also remembered Simmons catching him, and how the maroon ex-soldier hated anyone doing it. So he'd never be doing it himself. Grif felt a pang of sympathy for him, imagining the obsessive compulsive personality itching to not be able to stop Epsilon from spinning on his chair. Before he realised that said AI would be able to see him right now, and it would probably not be a good idea to be spotted. Thankfully, Caboose had by now gotten halfway up the hill, that sheltering him and Church from view. Grif decided it would maybe just about be a good idea to follow.

"What were you just playing at?" Church hissed. "I almost saw you!"

"Yeah, but you didn't. So chill."

"Yeah, well," Church trailed off. "Just be careful, okay? Same goes for you as well, Caboose."

"Okay!"

[...]

Grif held in another howl if pain as he stubbed his toe in the darkness _YET AGAIN…_ "Think of chocolate, think of Oreos, think of ice-cream-"

"We get it," Church snapped, irritated. "You like food. No need to make us nearly throw up because of it." The blue body pillow seemed quite the opposite of what a body-pillow was meant to do- tense, snappy, all around not particularly nice. Caboose didn't seem to mind, but then again, Caboose was Caboose.

They (Grif and Caboose) edged along a ridge that stuck out only a metre or two. It might seem a fine width, but when one of the walls was non-existent, and was replaced with a ravine deep as the shit they were in, you can't be too careful.

"Who's idea was this?"

"Yours!" Caboose helpfully supplied.

A bright beam of light cut through the darkness like a superheated knife, illuminating a cave just ahead that opened onto their pathway. Tucker stepped down from his slightly elevated perch, grinning when they cowered away from the powerful beam of his torch like vampires. "You know what, somehow I doubt it was my idea."

"Oh." Caboose looked between Grif and Tucker slightly sadly. "I thought you were Grif, Tucker."

"Yeah, no. How the fuck did you manage to get us mixed up?" Grif demanded.

"Hey, cut him some slack!" Church glared at them both, his tone harsh. "The darkness can be disorientating, okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Tucker mumbled under his breath, and turned around again. "Found 'em!" he yelled.

"Great!" Wash yelled back. Turned out he didn't really need to, as he climbed out of the exact same cave Tucker did. "Let's go. _You_ lot have some explaining to do."

[...]

"...and now we're here, doing that explaining thing you asked us to do."  
Wash nodded. "Thanks for that. Okay, the first thing I'd like to say is what did you think Epsilon would do if he saw you?"

"Uh… kidnap Caboose and kill Simmons?"

The ex-Freelancer shook his head, frowning slightly over to Grif. "Nope. You're acting under the assumption that Epsilon will act. The thing is that Epsilon has no clue that we know Simmons is being controlled by him. He has no reason to act."

"So…" Church started slowly, Something like incredulance in his tone. "You're saying what, we should go up to him, put on a pretty little lightshow, complete with confetti, and let him kill us?"  
Wash just glared. "Obviously not. Like I said before, in case you weren't listening, _he doesn't know you do._ We can very easily sort this out properly by doing as he says. For now, at least."  
"Fine." Church agreed reluctantly, disgruntled in the face of logic. We'll go check Epsilon out."

Grif nodded, standing to follow, but like earlier, he was on autopilot. He had just one thought as Wash ushered them back towards Red Base, assuring them that he and Tucker would be there momentarily.

[...]

"What about Simmons?"


	11. Chapter 10: Code Breakers! Da-nun dun!

**A/N:** CS- CLARIFICATION FOR THE NEXT COUPLE CHAPTERS AND PROBABLY THE PREVIOUS ONE IDK: I have this pet peeve that I have to make each "scene" that I write from a certain characters point of view. This is reflected most obviously in this in the various words used for Corrupted Epsilon. Obviously, Epsilon would call himself Epsilon, but since he's not really Epsilon (he's a fragmented fragment of a fragment), the others don't see it that way. I have had a question about this before, but I wanna clear everything up now before it gets messy in the next couple chapters.

Simmons calls Epsilon "Echo" since he sees him as an echo of the Church they once knew.

Grif, Church, Wash and Tucker will call him "Simm-silon", for obvious reasons. The reason they don't call him Echo is because they, frankly, gave never heard Simmons call Epsilon Echo, so they made up their own name.

ON WITH THE FIC!

*Warthog music plays in the background*

 **Chapter 10: Code Breakers! Da-nun dun!**

Sarge came bounding in like an over-excited bulldog puppy at the first syllable of "Rock Paper Scissors". "Rock Paper Scissors? Who said Rock Paper Scissors? Why are we debating who's in charge of the mission, because it obviously should be me."

Grif just glanced at him, annoyed Sarge had interrupted Simm-silon in the middle of his sentence. "No, we were not about to play Rock Paper Scissors. Simmons here was in the middle of a _fucking sentence,"_ he snapped, "If you don't mind."

"Simmons? Why don't you continue?" Church suggested.

The AI's puppet body nodded, although neither Church nor Sarge noticed the sly glare Simm-silon sent the red ex-CO-turned-billionaire. _Yet more proof_ , Grif thought. "As I was saying," Simm-silon continued, "The _radar,_ " he paused for emphasis, letting the word sink in, "Says that Vic's found his way into that same computer Dylan found him at. Some kind of survivalist instinct in him forced him to fragment himself without him actually meaning to. Then said survival instinct took him over to his home computer- here in Blood Gulch." Simm-silon shrugged. "The computer picked it up, and... now we're here."

Grif raised an eyebrow. "And you know this for absolute definite… how?"

Again, Simm-silon shrugged. "He told me."

Vic's avatar appeared on a the computer screen, and the red-AI thing jabbed at the space bar with too much force for it to actually be Simmons. Inwardly, Grif cursed. _How didn't I see all this before?_

"Uh, hey there, anyone there? Vic to literally anyone at Blood Gulch? No? Oh. Well, dudes and dudettes, this kinda sucks. Turns out I _didn't_ die, and I need someone to come down and fix that. Something about survival instincts, fragmentations, and hitching a ride across the galaxies? Yeah, someone needs to get down here, and murder my ass ASAP or I might just have to blow the Gulch up. So… help? As in, soon?"

Grif wasn't entirely sure whether Vic's sudden revival was simply convenient for Epsilon or way too convenient to be conveniently timed, but Church's silence was telling.

"Question," Grif put his hand up. "Is this, like mandatory or something, or can or we sit this one out?"

[...]

I don't know, Simmons," Echo chuckled, rounding on the sobbing red. "Can he sit this one out, or shall I kill him like I'm going to kill all of you?"

"Let him _go,_ " Simmons begged, lifting his head up to face the intruder. "Let him live, _please."_

"Hmm," Echo grinned viciously, reminding him suddenly and painfully of Temple, Temple when he had a gun to Grif's head. "I think I'll drag him along, just to keep you company."

Time outside their unwillingly shared conscience thawed, and Simmons' IRL head shook. "Nope. We're all going, Grif. He did save us."

"Only because Andrew's told him to," Grif muttered, before turning round. "I'm going to pack some food."

Simmons let his head fall, slumping over as Echo pushed him down and locked him back in position. He couldn't do anything… damn it. That was Plan Pretty Fuckin' Sweet Diversion out the window.

Shit. What would Grif do- ah. Yes. Accept his fate, wheedle for food, be generally annoying, and hope for a rescue. As brilliant as he was in Simmons' mind, it wasn't all rose-tinted. Grif wasn't exactly the most active when it came to escape plans. He caught himself smiling fondly as the orange Hawaiian re-entered the room, arms laden with what no one would have guessed, food. And a pair of glasses with pictures of eyes stuck onto then, but it was mostly food. Echo noticed, and gave him a kick in the ribs. It was worth it, though. Worth it to see Grif at his most simple- food and pretending not to sleep.

"Lock and load, boys," he heard Sarge say, picking up his signature shotgun that had been sitting, pride of place, in the kitchen ever since they got back. "Lock and load."

"Do you even know what that means?" Church sounded annoyed.

"Well, yes, o-of course I do! As if my integrity could ever be questioned by the likes of you dirty blues!"

"Right~." Neither Church nor Grif sounded convinced. Simmons just wished he could be back with them, but endless he was _trapped here in an AI's prison, and he still couldn't break the damn code._ Not yet, anyway.

[...]

"Cool. We going now?" Church was irritated to say the least. The way Simm-silon had been sending Caboose almost hungry glances (and him deathglares) had seriously been rubbing him up the wrong way the entire meeting. _Argh! Can you stop around about now, before I accidently murder Simmons as well?_ And that was another thing- Simmons.

Of course Church knew it was Epsilon to in control, of course he knew that Simmons was probably fighting for his life in there. But every lusting look and if-looks-could-kill-your-brains-would-be-splattered-across-the-wall-right-now struck a chord with him- a chord that sounded distinctly like betrayal.

"Yeah. Let's get moving!"

Grif let out a half-hearted whoop, clearly showing he wasn't ready for yet another three-season-long adventure. When the group filed out and made their way up the cliffs, the orange Red hung back to walk with Caboose and Church- their long-forgotten armour now fixed back in place. It felt odd to see the Reds and Blues back in their full armour, preferred guns and such in hand as they took up the familiar march.

[...]

It felt as odd as it looked to be back in the armour- not least because the months they had spent without them had made them adapt back to being in the admittedly pathetic breeze Blood Gulch picked up. Being back in the armour made them sweat like a _bitch._

It also felt odd to walk in their familiar battle formation March thing, but not by Simmons' side. Grif caught the "possessed" (assuming Epsilon still thought he was a ghost) maroon look back at him questioningly, but he ignored it, guiltless since he knew there was no hurt to the gaze, only feigned emotion for the sake of a performance everyone but him saw through.

Grif sighed. Damn metaphors were rubbing off on him. Was this what it meant to fall for Simmons? He didn't know. It was probably best not to think about it now, not when he had to be on his guard against Epsilon.

"We're here," Simm-silon muttered lowly when they reached the entrance to the caves. "Just the decent left."

"Well, no shut." Church snarked back. " _Just the decent_ into the winding caves that could very easily kill us by trapping us forever. Yeah, just that."

Simm-silon glowered. "I did download the coordinates and the easiest path down," he protested quietly. "And we'll have plenty of warning signals if the cave collapses. We'll be out in time if it does."

Church grumbled to himself as Simm-silon turned and lead them down. "You sure it's not him?" he asked Grif in a low tone. "Didn't act like me. He acted like Simmons."

Grif just shook his head and rolled his eye, laughing slightly and forgetting that the helmet obscured his face. "It's not Simmons. Epsilon's trying to act. Trying being the key word. Just then Simmons wouldn't have hung his head and quietly explained what he meant. He'd have glared at you and stated calmly, matter-of-factly, why your assumption was wrong and how you shouldn't question him. It's just you assumed he would because of his anxiety."

Church grumbled in Caboose's arms, and the cobalt blue warrior just gave him a smile from behind the reflective visor. "It's okay, Church!" he chirruped. "We'll find Vic and then we'll sit down and have some warm milk and watch BBC Sherlock on repeat for five days! Or we could go cave exploring like we did earlier when Washingtub had to come and find us, but I didn't like that."

"Hmm. Me neither," Church mused, eyeing Simm-silon as they descended into a darkness that their eyes couldn't get through, and had to turn their head-torches on.

[...]

"Well, this is it, men," Sarge gruffly monologued as they walked down the trail to the open space before Vic's computer, walking to the front and taking back his old position as Red Team Commanding Officer. Grif just rolled his eyes, noticing a crate next to the bulky computer, overflowing with empty gum wrappers and a stereo beside it with a "Barenaked Ladies" CD box next to it. "Vic's cave. The hell-hole Command called our friend for so many years, whilst secretly working with those damn dirty blues to deprive Red Team of vital resources!"

"Wha-?" Caboose sounded hurt.

"Sarge!" Church yelled in frustration.

"We outnumber you!" Sarge barked, no doubt grinning victoriously. "Surrender to our might and we may just spare you."

"Technically-" Simm-silon began, moving a hand up to take off his helmet. No one noticed the attempted dramatic villain reveal.

"Dude, no way!" Church spat furiously. "No fuckin' way in hell we're surrendering to you!" The fabric flopped slightly as Church attempted to round on Simm-silon, who quickly lowered his hand. "Was this a setup? There's no such thing as Red Vs Blue anymore, not in this damn gulch at least!"

"Yes," the maroon-armored Blue muttered. "It was a trap. And you all fell into it."

"Simmons?" Everyone turned to the red leader. "I just want to say… I'm proud of you, son."

Now normally Grif knew that Simmons would squeak "Really?" in a high-pitched tone that made Grif want to punch Sarge in the face, but that wasn't what happened. Instead, Simm-silon just growled in a synthetic tone and yelled "Shut up!" And Sarge, having never been told that before in his life, was so shocked that he did.

"I didn't do this for you! I didn't do this for anyone! I did it for you, Caboose." And Simm-silon turned to Caboose with such a tender and honeyed note in his voice that Grif almost wanted to punch _him_ in the face. "I did it for you."

"Uh, question?" Grif raised his hand. "What?"

"Aah. You must be wondering why I, Richard Simmons, would ever stage something this elaborate for Caboose, right?" Grif opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't get a chance to speak, but Simm-silon cut him off. "Well the truth is, I didn't. At least not I, Richard Simmons, but rather I, the original Leonard Church. I, the one who saved you all, I, the one who _loves_ you, Caboose, come home to find myself… replaced. Written off."

Simm-silon started pacing his cybernetic hand clenching and unchanging in race, whilst the human one… started tapping against the armoured leg. Grif kept an eye on it, whilst half paying attention to Epsilon's speech. "So I concocted my plan. In truth, it was thought up in all of five minutes, supercomputer time. So a seventh of a second in real time." Epsilon barked out a laugh, the voice merging with Church's to eventually form Epsilon's original voice. "It was so simple, so genius! And everything fell into place so perfectly, I'd almost call it a coincidence. Almost.

"When Simmons here came crawling up the hill to die, I realised I could enact my plan far sooner than I'd intended to. And lucky I took that chance, too, because I never could have done it without his help. He was always going to be my puppet, you see. But if he died, there was no chance of that happening. With a little… persuasion," The cybernetic hand flexed and relaxed, and Grif dreaded to think of what persuasion he could have used, "Simmons was more than willing to give his life to me."

Grif thought he had it, now. It was Morse code, he had figured that out, but figuring out what Simmons was trying to say whilst Epsilon was distracted was a tad more difficult.

.- -.- . / - - …- . / -.- . . .-. / - .- .-.. -.- .. -. -. / -.. - -. - / -, apparently translated to "Ake move keep talking dont m". Or alternatively, what Simmons probably meant, which would be "Keep talking, don't make move". _Why do you make me do_ _ **effort**_ _, Simmons? Why!?_

"...For I… am a corrupted shard of the Epsilon AI! MWAHAHAHAHA!"

Grif snapped back to reality in time to give Epsilon a practiced and perfected glare. "We already figured it out, dumbass."

[...]

"Come on, you got this. It's just a damn code, you break them all the time. Damn you, Epsilon, why do you have to be so confusing?"


	12. Chapter 11: NBTORSC

So, you remember that one time when I was ecstatic about how we uploaded vaguely on time? Well, throw all of that out the window, because school is one hell of a bitch. Turns out having writers block on the week of three assessments is, ahem, _not_ a good thing when the whole reason you write is to get away from stress.

So, you're reading this, and I hope it's making your life better and stuff. The epilogue should be coming out in two days (woo! Ma birthday!) if you lot pester us enough. As in, holy fuck we need the pestering. Seriously, have you seen the amount of days we miss?

 **Chapter 11: Now back to our regularly scheduled chaos**

Echo dropped Simmons' arms with a huff. "Okay, maybe that wasn't the dramatic reveal I hoped it would be," he murmured. "Oh well. No time like the present, I suppose. And I have a little gift for you, too."

From behind a crate filled with Extra wrappers and used gun rounds stood a- something. A purple something, that rose and stood proud in the shadows before stepping forward. Simmons gaped. "Doc," he breathed.

Echo chuckled. "Yes, Simmons, it's Doc. Another willing assistant once Omega and I showed him a couple of… plans."

 _Inversion plans,_ Simmons read. What the glitched and twisted AI was really thinking about was now plain as day, mostly because Simmons felt what Echo was thinking once they both let their guards down.

Inversion plans. A tool an AI can use to torture it's host from the inside. Simmons just hoped Echo never felt the need to use it on him.

Caboose took a worried step towards to purple armoured medic, when the alien pistol Doc held was leveled at the blue's chest. "Don't," he warned. It was Doc's voice, although it was tired and worn thin. Simmons felt a stab of pity- but then he felt a _real_ stab of pain shoot through him, and he cried out. Echo was waving at him- waving goodbye.

"So long, Simmons!"

 _Well. So much for subtlety._

Simmons rose inside his mind, power flurrying towards him.

"I think it's about time for some mutiny, don't you captain?" he ground out. The control room tore and splintered, sparks flying everywhere and they were all here, everyone he considered part of his twisted family, cheering him on.

"Simmons! As your commanding officer, I order you to win!"

"Yeah Simmons! Beat up evil Church! Then you can teach me how to read!"

"Shove something up his ass!"

"Bow chika wow wow!"

"Beat up that sonofabitch wannabe!"

"We're right behind you Simmons."

"Bow chika wow wow!"

"TUCKER!"

"Sorry…"

And then there was Grif, just standing, smiling. "Kick his ass, dude. Kick his ass and make him fuckin' pay." And it was all the assurance he ever needed.

He could still see Grif's steady form even when the others faded in the haze of pain, pain, pain that threatened to buckle him to the ground and pin him there forever and shot through him faster and more agonising than bullets and he could just make out a frantic "Simmons!"

An orange helmet filled his view, shaking him, which caused the ripping scream he wasn't even aware of to double, double, doubling the pain.

"Bye bye, Simmons!" Echo yelled over the sound. "Have fun!"

The haze overtook him, and the ceiling faded to black as a feeling of weightlessness and falling overtook him.

[...]

The metal-plated floor (Grif had thought that was weird to begin with) opened downwards- a trapdoor. Caboose let out a blood-curdling scream as they dropped, and the pounding of footsteps, the blue _falling from the sky_ and the twin shouts of "Caboose!" from both Church's just about made it known in Grif's mind that he'd jumped down with them. Grif just clutched Simmons closer, not daring to even breathe as they fell down, down, for hours and hours and hours-

The solid of the ground hit him hard, and he barely registered a quiet whimper of pain from the body next to him through the pain of his own stinging skin. Realising, though, that the body next to him was _Simmons,_ though, got him up and kneeling over his fellow Red in an instant. He swallowed as he realised Simmons had hit his head on a rock protruding from the floor, praying that the cyborg was fine- and the steady rising and falling of his chest gave him the answer he do desperately craved. The helmet had done it's job and protected him.

The rage and emotion building up inside him for the past week built up inside him, peaking at the unknown love of his life's broken scream snapped something inside him.

"Well great!" he snapped to anyone and everyone bothering to listen to his rant. "We're stuck here. Thanks, Caboose."

[...]

Grif sighed. "Caboose, we can't do a flashback. This is real life. Simmons put himself through _torture_ for you, for all of us- does that sound like something that would happen in a work of fiction?"

Sarge, however, had a different view. "If this was a work of fiction, I bet the creators would be really pissed at you right about now," he growled, chuckling at Caboose's dismayed expression. "You, sonney, did something they call "breaking the fourth wall". And that is not allowed! Strictly under no circumstances is a character that isn't insane like Joker or Deadpool allowed to break the fourth wall." the ex-CO paused a moment. "Then again, you did join the blues, so I guess we'll have to allow it."

Grif hissed to himself, casting a final glance to Simmons to satisfy his worry for the time it took to take his helmet off and throw it aside, fixing Sarge with a feral glare. "You can't even take this seriously- neither of you can! This is not a game! Can't you recognise that for _ONCE IN YOUR FUCKING LIVES?_ " he half-roared. "Yeah, we've survived all the shit thrown at us in the past- so what? Lady Luck's gonna figure out we're just a bunch of dumbasses wielding guns one day, and when that day comes…" Grif swallowed. "Simmons will have been two fucking inches to the left. Two inches. You wanna know how much difference two inches makes?"

Caboose looked at him, wide-eyed and scared. Grif gathered that he didn't want to know. "The difference between a mild concussion and a snapped neck. That's what." Sarge looked unconvinced, and Grif felt like sinking to his knees and screaming, never getting up. "And that fucker _dies,_ Sarge. And guess what times two? This fucker isn't Church. He doesn't _get_ the billions of chances Church does. If he d- if he dies, then he's gone for good."

There was silence in the pit. No one moved a muscle but Grif, who's frame shook as it heard up and down, up, down with heavy breaths. Eventually the fuming orange soldier shook his head and went back over to Simmons, kneeling down beside him again.

"Guys?" This was Wash's voice, calling down to them from above. "Everything alright?"

"Washingtub!" As always, Caboose sounded delighted at the others company. "I am fine! Simmons is sleeping, and Grif is sad." Suddenly his entire everything- tone, expression, frame- crumpled. "I don't want Grif to be sad. Why is Grif sad?"

"Hmm. I don't know, Caboose. Grif?" He looked up to meet Wash's eyes, fully unprepared to answer Caboose's question. But instead, Wash kinda… grinned apologetically. "Sorry I didn't come with you. I wanted to hang back a bit so we could have backup if Epsilon went mad, but then Carolina came back and demanded to know everything so we were kinda set back a bit."

"You don't say," Grif snarked back. "We could have avoided a whole lot of damage if you'd have maybe walked a _tiny bit_ faster."

"Hey, Grif!" Tucker's head appeared next to Wash's, and returned Grif's fuming glare. "Are you yelling at my boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Okay, let me rephrase that." The buzz of the energy sword and the light blue tinted glow to Tucker's skin set an edge to his next words, highlighting a red patch on his shoulder that looked suspiciously like blood. Grif swallowed. "Do you have a death wish?" Grif had absolutely no doubt that Tucker would follow through with his threat as easily as he could destroy a tank by punching it. So he sullenly shook his head, looking back down to Simmons.

He frowned, the helmet looking unnatural on the ex-soldier after the time they'd all spent without them. He reached to remove it, just to check if Simmons had any head wounds or anything-

"Grif!"

He looked back up. "Yes?"

Wash's face was soft, sympathetic. Why? Simmons was the one lying unconscious on the floor, _Simmons_ was the one tortured, trapped in his own mind for days on end, he was just being fucking overemotional, _worrying, worrying worrying_ all the time and he was just _tired…_

"We'll get you out if there, Grif. We'll make sure Simmons is okay."

He nodded, the simple words pushing away a heavy weight he didn't even know was resting on his shoulders.

[...]

"You're going to be fine, Simmons. You and Grif both- Tucker and I will make absolutely sure of that."


	13. Epilogue

**A/N**  
CS-Well, last one for FFG. There is a sequel- of course there is. Literally nothing was wrapped up with this, and by the sounds of it, this next one is going to be _dark_. Dusty Helmets, look out for it.

Also I'm offended that no one A) pestered us about the upload (you guys should know by now how unreliable we are) and B) that no one wished me a happy birthday ::(

Either way, enjoy.

 **Epilogue**

Carolina couldn't have been going faster if she was hyped on methmethshrooms. As soon as Wash had hurriedly finished telling her what had happened she'd bolted, up to the caves with only a yell of "You idiots! Why didn't you go with them?" thrown behind her.

Wash just shook his head, not bothering to suit up, knowing that Carolina would just yell at them for taking too long. He'd just have to rely on his innate and rather respected ability to dodge. He simply grabbed an SMG and thrown another to Tucker, setting off behind his fellow ex-freelancer.

When they got down to the caves, Carolina was the only one with a torch, so they followed her blindly until they could make out a faint orange light in the distance, heading towards that instead. Then they heard a scream, not far from the cave opening. Sharing a panicked look, they ran faster, faster than they ever knew they could.

It was Simmons, screaming and sobbing and just begging for anyone, for _Grif_ to make it stop. The floor dropped beneath the Reds and he heard another yell, from Caboose, as the cries for help suddenly petered away to a sharp stop.

Another sharp cry replaced it, and Tucker lunged forward, sword sparking to Vic's computer, where Epsilon now resided. The rogue AI let out a furious yelp and flitted away right before Tucker's sword crashed into the computer and tore it apart, before the armourless Blue turned around back to Wash and Carolina, a wild glint to his eye as he searched for Epsilon. "Coward," the ex-sim-soldier hissed, looking around, energy sword sparking. "You think you can do all that and expect not to have to fight?"

"Pretty much." Epsilon's voice echoed around the cavern, giving no indication of where he was. Tucker growled, noticing Doc standing, frozen with his gun still pointed at the space where the Reds were moments ago. "Doc! Talk to me, where is he?"

Wash saw it in slow motion- Doc turning his head towards Tucker and realigning his pistol to his chest. "I'm afraid no can do, _buddy,_ " the possessed medic spat, and shot.

Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but although Epsilon was the one speaking, it was O'Malley who pulled the trigger, hitting Tucker in the shoulder. An extremely stylistic spurt of blood blossomed from the wound as Tucker fell, his face twisted in a pained grimace.

" _Damnit,_ " was all Epsilon had time to say before Carolina's foot hit him in the side of the head, pinning him to the floor as they landed. But Wash wasn't watching Epsilon- how could he?

Tucker skittered across the floor once, twice, three times before he finally came to a stop and Wash knelt beside him. It looked bad, but Wash couldn't be sure of the damage until he saw the wound itself. "Tucker, I'm going to need to take your shirt off, okay?"

"Oh yeah," Tucker mumbled sleepily. " _Need._ Bow chicka bow wow."

Thankfully O'Malley's aim had been hampered by Epsilon's lack thereof, and although the wound was wide, over a larger surface area than most shots, it didn't go too far in. No major arteries or muscles were damaged by the looks of it, and could probably be fixed over by a medi-pack. "You," he muttered, pressing the shirt to Tucker's shoulder. "Must have done something pretty amazing to have this much luck on your side."

"What can I say?" Tucker grinned up at him. "I'm a ladies man."

"Does that make me trans?"

"Probably."

Wash grinned and leant down, sharing a rare moment of tranquility with the man he loved above everything in this gulch full of mayhem and madmen. Tucker responded eagerly, but a yell from Carolina as O'Malley attempted to fight back broke him out of his reverie.

"You gonna go and help?" Tucker asked nonchalantly.

"I'll probably get in the way…"

Surely enough, the attempted skirmish ended swiftly, and the radio transmitter was crushed between Carolina's hands, trapping the two rouge AI in Doc's helmet.

[...]

Grif insisted on being the one to carry Simmons back to Red base. No one really knew how it happened, and most ignored the fact. Wash, however, sent Tucker a knowing look, and the dreadlocked man nodded and grinned back. They fell into step beside the orange soldier, who looked resolutely ahead.

"How is he?" Wash asked, noticing the almost death grip with which Grif held the cyborg, as well as the oddly tender manner in which he carried him.

"Alive." Okay, one-word answers. They could work with that.

"How are you?" Tucker asked next.

Grif looked down to the body in his arms, and readjusted his grip, noticing Simmons slipping slightly. "Worried."

"Hmm. But like you said, he's alive."

"What happens when he wakes up, though?" Grif looked to him imploringly. Wash could see the million-miles-an-hour though whirling through his head. "The last thing he remembers is an AI who used to be his friend torturing him and leaving him to die in a hole. How does he cope with that. How do we help him cope with it?"

"Dude, there's no weird formula for social interaction. It's always case-by-case. Probably why _he,"_ Tucker gestured to the cyborg in Grif's arms and in turn he held Simmons closer, "Sucks at it so much."

"Hmm." Grif didn't seem all that convinced.

"Either way," Wash cut in, "We'll work through it. Case by case or not, we've been doing it for the last fifteen seasons. And we'll do it again."

[...]

"Good. Because you'll have to."

 **Hopefully see you all in Dusty Helmets! After a long while, probably, because we haven't started yet. BYE!**


	14. Bonus Chapter: WHALOFT

**A/N** Hey FFG fans! FictionalIdiot Welp. That's it. Fall from Grace, at least, the first one, is over! I'll be the first to admit, we're slacking off not releasing many more, but trust us, we will. I kinda wrote this script fic and had it lying around so, here you go! Enjoy!

 **A Tucker joke: We've had a lot of fun tonight.**

(Open on a studio. Tucker sits in an armchair with a glass of non-descript alcohol next to him. He's staring at the camera.)

 **Tucker:** You know, we've had a lot of fun tonight, Bow chicka bow wow, but sometimes I feel it's best to take some time to talk about some serious issues. Serious like some RVB fanfics Simmons has been reading. Anyway, we're taking some time, some REAL time, out of our regularly scheduled bullshit to talk about a major issue here in blood gulch. It's called: Girls. Or at least the lack thereof. Now I know what you're thinking (turns to face a camera to the right) because I'm psychic (returns to normal) and yes, the dress does make you look fat, no really it really does, no matter what you think, no matter what the dress, it will always make you look fat. If for some reason you weren't thinking that, then I know what else you might be thinking. 1. Eww gross and 2. No Kaikaina does not count as a girl. she is at most, a bitch. A major bitch.

 **Grif:** STFU

 **Tucker** : But yeah, no girls here. No girls at all. And it's a problem. It's a major fucking problem. So if you want to help, then please, dial 0800-BOW-CHICKA-BOW-WOW, that's 0800-BOW-CHICKA-BOW-WOW and you'll get our co-ordinates. Then, if your a hot chick, get on a pelican and get your presumably fine ass over here. If your a guy, then share this video with a chick. A hot chick. Doesn't even matter if you know them, just fucking do it right fucking now YOU PIECE OF- (cut with a bleep) So thank you for listening and hurry the fuck up, and get the fuck over here. Thank you.


End file.
